The Kingdom: The Ballad of a Dragon
by UrgingBee
Summary: A fairy tale of epic proportions containing dragons, wizards, witches, changelings, knights, princesses, and princes. Based off of a true story. I will upload a new chapter AT LEAST once a week. :
1. Prologue

_This is a story from my childhood, of long ago, when the kingdom of Lockamus was still fresh and young. Dragons lived all about the world in solitary caverns, yet oddly, in a sort of organized family arrangement. When I think about it, their homes were the size of small kingdoms and offspring never strayed more than three kingdoms away from their parents, and when one was hurt, multiple sprang to action, rushing to aide their brethren. Changelings roamed the earth, and fairies and wizards and witches were abundant. Dwarves still forged the best metal you could find in any kingdom, and monsters were plentiful, much to the joy and often chagrin of heroes. Oh, did I forget to mention? Heroes were easy to find, too. You could hire one to exterminate a minor pestilence of borogoves or boggarts, or to take your daughter (or even son) to a cotillion or a ball, for a small fee, of course. My mother always told me not to trust those heroes – the ones that had nobleness in their veins and courtesy in every bone were the ones who would take no fee, no reward, nothing but perhaps bread and bedding for a night, in exchange for a good deed, from getting rid of a mouse to driving off a dragon, and then be gone again in the morning with a note of thanks for hosting them, feeding them, and giving them a chance to help._

_The greatest hero, perhaps, went by the name of Damien. He was one of the noblest knights from the kingdom of Lockamus, ruled by the most beneficial Prince Alexander. Damien had shaggy brown hair and could often be seen riding through the fields and meadows chasing a cow that had gotten out of its pasture or escorting a caravan of noblemen or, more often, peasants to see the prince early in the morning. He was a handsome man somewhere in between his teen years and his adult life, still young enough to be able to learn, and yet strong and bold enough to assert his values and truths if he must. His hair was a shaggy sandy brown, with golden hues mixed in, as if his hair had absorbed the sun it was so often in. He had a Grecian bone structure, and his favorite color for his tunics was green. He was often flushed and exhilarated, ice blue eyes shining like lightning bugs on a warm summer night at the prospect of adventure and chances to be taken. Damien would give free lessons to village children when he had the time and he would make time for his benefactor, Prince Alexander, to learn. Alexander and Damien had an almost sibling-like relationship. Alexander housed a quiet adoration and idolization for Damien, while Damien took Alexander under his wing in everything but politics. Here, Alexander was the better. Alexander tutored Damien in the court's manners so Damien could travel abroad and be a diplomat, as it suited his personality to a tee. _

_Alexander was the dream of every village girl. (There was one boy in the village that closely and almost uncannily resembled him, but he was the son of the old shrew who tended the pub long into the morning. The woman seemed to be constantly hung-over; suffering from an inextinguishable headache. Most people thought it was from too much beer. I, personally, thought it was from worrying about what her son was going to do without her when she passed on. He had no future, until Damien and Alexander took him into their tutelage. But that's a story for another time.) He was the tall, strong, silent and very pale type, rarely saying a word, even to his parents. He watched Damien do his good deeds from afar, admiring and constantly wishing to join him, wishing that he were as brave, as smart, as kind, as noble as Damien; maybe then he would make a good king. But alas, as Alexander grew older, he started to pull away from the world, until one fateful Luminiare. That year, he decided to do something oddly out of character for him: to give. He choose to bombard the kingdom of Subeta with gifts, given anonymously and with no chance of return or thanks, perhaps because he wanted to feel better about himself, or perhaps because he thought that this was the year he was going to change; this was the year he was going to become noble!_

_It wasn't long before this caught the eye of his faithful knight, Sir Damien. Damien knew little of Alexander at that point, but he launched into gift-giving just as avidly as Alex. Given, his gifts were smaller and less expensive, but they were given from the heart, and they meant all the more as Damien barely had enough money to clothe and feed himself. Real knights don't have much, you know. If something gets ripped, they sew it up and keep going. They would both give gifts with little ditties, after carefully considering what they knew about that person. Soon, Alex was going after girls with his letters, and Damien was playfully trying to save them from the clutches of the evil womanizer. Then, history was made._

_Alexander sent a letter to one girl who was just wandering around aimlessly and she started to talk about it. She speculated that there might be a small rivalry going on between the two, and others joined her. Within moments, Alex and Damien were communicating through their letters to each other and to the new friends. Damien was fond of a visiting princess named Shouko, and Alexander focused on the original girl, who went by Bee, publicly, but was known as Atalanta privately and to her new friends. As the lot of them grew to know each other, the letters and ditties became more and more personal, more and more caring, almost as if it were a love story._

_And then all anons broke loose._

_The Sugar Fairy, the Duke, the mother of the boy who looked like Alexander, a jealous princess, and everybody else seemed to come out of the woodwork. Anons bombarded the girls, and soon, there was a full-fledged legend in the making._

_It's been years since that happened, but we still remember it as our history. It's true; though it may sound like hooey I pulled out of my slop bucket. There are more stories, but I only know one or two. What's that, boy? You want to hear another! Well, I'm not going to tell it standing up. Get my old bones a chair. And get the broom, the floor needs sweeping. Yes, you! You can sweep while you listen._


	2. A Playful Jab

Atalanta leaned out of the window, straining to see the top of the towering, glowering castle. "Imposing, isn't it?" she called over her shoulder to her traveling companion. Shouko nodded, never looking up from her book. "Yes, I suppose it should be. It is a fortress, after all, and dragons do live in this country. How come your home doesn't look like this, Shouko?" Shouko sighed. Atalanta was a nervous talker, and boy, was she nervous.

"Atalanta, I don't suppose you could sit down? If you fall out of the window, we're not stopping."

"Oooh, someone's ready to see their suitor!" Atalanta jeered.

Shouko blushed. "Stop making those faces. You'll stick that way. And besides, he's not my suitor."

Atalanta plopped down in her seat. "Then explain to me, please, why he invited you with the option of bringing one friend as an afterthought? Please, I'm dying to see you reason this one away.

Shouko blushed again. "Shut up, Atalanta. But remember, Damien mentioned that Alexander was dying to see you."

It was Atalanta's turn to blush. She made a halfhearted scoff, and flapped her hand around in the stagnant air of the carriage. "Pssh. I'm sure Damien was just trying to make me feel better. I hope he was being serious, though," she added under her breath.

"What was that?"

"Nothing!"


	3. They're Here!

Alexander was in a dreamlike state when his peripheral vision caught sight of an unassuming carriage drive up the main walk. "They're here," he murmured, then fell off of the window seat, trying to sit up. "Ouch…" he remarked, before getting up and walking out the library. "They're here," he remarked to the first serving maid he saw. "They're here," he called into the kitchens. His pace had started out leisurely, but he realized he was almost running down the hallways in an effort to reach Damien. "They're here!" he cried out of the window the guards. He was sprinting now, blazing past the tapestries and adjoining hallways. He burst out of the side doors into the sparring ring. "They're here!"

Damien had been sparring with an apprentice to the cook to get him up to speed on his moves – here, everyone from kitchen boy to prince learned the basics in swordplay – when Damien sprang out of the doors and whisked him away. "All right, Prince, we all know they're here, you've been screaming it the entire way from the library," he remarked, jogging comfortably alongside Damien, "but what I don't understand is why you seem so excited. Alex made a face in response, never stopping to talk or even catch his breath. He was determined to get to the front courtyard before the girls dismounted from their carriage. Damien shrugged, giving up. "At least they're better company than what we get most of the year, dour dukes and mopey monarchs abound. Hey, I should give that last bit to that wandering bard we heard last Luminiare! He's really good, you know," he finished as they finally drew into the compound. "Breathe, Alex," he added as an afterthought, looking at his charge's tight face.

Alex breathed in, realizing he had been holding his breath. "Thank you," he said quietly, suddenly subdued, staring at the carriage drawing closer and closer. He swallowed. "Are you ready for Shouko?" he asked, nudging his knight in the side. Though Damien was technically his protector and Alexander the benefactor, they had more of a sibling relationship than a guard-guarded relationship. They teased each other, they messed with each other, but they made sure the other was safe. Damien grinned.

"Of course I am! I've been waiting for months! You shouldn't have told me if you were trying to surprise me, you know," he added, grabbing Alex in a brotherly headlock. Alex said something that was muffled as his face was buried in Damien's side. "What was that?"

"I said it wasn't a surprise. More of a birthday gift – and if I remember correctly, your birthday is tomorrow."

Damien nodded. "Good job, Princeling. You're learning about how to care for others."

"Oh, pish."


	4. A Strange Wind

Alex was practically bouncing up and down with happy anticipation, practically ready to start crowing. Damien was just as excited, but a little better at hiding it. His eyes didn't try to hide it, though, and they were flashing and dancing just as fireflies would on a summer night. Alex's choppy black bangs were suddenly blown off of his face and up as a gust of violent winter wind blew. Atalanta had just gotten out of the carriage and her skirt flew above her knees – an indecency that no one over the age of six should have to suffer outside of the forest or bedroom. Alexander and Damien stood, the color of tomatoes vibrant on their embarrassed countenances, frozen to the point where they couldn't move. "I… ah… oh, dear," Damien stuttered. Atalanta was just as embarrassed, if not more, and was hastily putting her impossibly heavy skirts back into place. "Are… are you all right?" Atalanta nodded, somewhat shaken, and stepped out of the way for her traveling companion to emerge from the vehicle. Damien's face lost all embarrassment, and he immediately stepped up to offer her his hand. "My dear," he murmured. Shouko's face was a beam of happiness with a tinge of curiosity.

"I've never been here before," Shouko said. "The countryside is quite beautiful. Your subjects are quite productive when it comes to food production."

Alex waved this comment aside. "No, no! No formal talks or politics today, please! We're all here to have fun and to see our friends!" He smiled at Atalanta, regaining his former confidence. He was boosted another three feet when she smiled back at him. "But I wonder where this unseasonably cool and windy weather could have come from! It was balmy just a minute ago…"


	5. A Malevolent Face

A malevolent face glared out of the window, staring the excited, happy group down. "Who does he think he is?" she muttered to herself. The thick glass prevented her from doing much to them, but she still could send a few elements their way to make the day unpleasant. "Who does _she _think _she _is? I'm a princess, infinitely more important than a meager _duchess _from the lakes and a princess from the barbaric mountains! They know nothing! Why are they here, taking _my_ Princeling away from me? He's mine." She narrowed her eyes a slit harder. "Mine, do you hear?"

She turned away from the window roughly, her hair hitting the window just a splattering of rain smacked against it.


	6. How Rude!

Atalanta made a small cry of surprise as the first band of rain passed over them. "Oh," she said. Alexander grabbed her hand, and pulled her inside. Damien did the same, calling over his shoulder to the driver of the carriage, "Please put their things in the foyer! We'll get the scullery maids to put them up!"

Shouko was laughing at Atalanta's surprise at the rain when what felt like a bucket emptying out onto her hair plastered her hair down. "Ach!" she cried, and pulled Damien into the foyer more than he pulled her. "Oooh… my hair…. It's ruined."

Atalanta stifled a giggle. "More than that, Shouk. Come on, let's get you dried off."

Shouko made another face, and then hid it. They ran up four flights of stairs and were rounding a corner when Atalanta stopped suddenly. "Hello," a condescending voice snaked down the stairs to the ears of Shouko. "And _who, _exactly, are _you?_"

Atalanta opened her mouth, closed it, and then opened it again. "Atalanta," she said quietly. Her eyes travelled up from the girl's pursed, thin lips, to her equine nose, to her icy eyes, and then took in the crown resting on top of her thick, luxurious blonde hair. "Your Majesty," she added, sweeping a low curtsey, almost touching the floor. Shouko copied her, though not quite as deep, as she was also royalty.

"I suppose you two are Alexander's guests."

"You've supposed right, your Majesty."

"Open your mouth wider when you talk. It saves time. And always say your Majesty at the end of every sentence when addressing a royal."

"Yes, your Majesty," Atalanta enunciated. She was already familiar with the etiquette of court, and she was smart enough to know that this princess – or perhaps queen – was toying with her.

"You may address me as Princess Jiani."

"Yes, Princess Jiani – your Majesty.

Princess Jiani passed them; ignoring Shouko, save for an offhand comment meant to burn. "Oh, and you might want to do something about her face."

Shouko's mouth dropped open in rather annoyed surprise. As soon as Jiani was out of earshot, she let loose. "How rude!" she cried as they emerged out onto their hallway, fuming at the disrespectful young princess. The rooms they were to stay in were open and empty except for their clothes.

"She definitely was brusque with us," Atalanta conceded. "But I suppose she's not having a good day."


	7. Not a Good Day

Jiani stalked down the stairs. Not a good day, indeed! Her love was being stolen out from under her nose as she thought these treacherous thoughts of murder and witchcraft. "Ugh!" She simply couldn't find a word foul enough to voice her feelings for this girl. "Ugh!"


	8. Dense

Alexander was helping to oversee the proceedings of tonight's banquet. It was a special occasion – his birthday. There were visiting dignitaries from across the ocean, including one blonde princess from the Netherlands. She was very rough around the edges, but if you had a tough skin, she was easy enough to get along with. It was almost unsettling sometimes – she went through mood swings like a pregnant mother with five children already. She could be candyfloss sweet to Alexander one second, and a biting adder to Damien the next.

_Now let me clear something up for you, before you start asking questions and interrupting me._

_Alexander was dense. And I mean D-E-N-S-E, dense. He could be one stupid block of rock if you got him drunk – but he usually avoided alcohol like the plague, for that exact reason. (I'll tell you that story next.) So he didn't notice that her "mood swings" were actually shows of affection – for him. It's a laughable concept, yes, and very clichéd, but it's disturbingly true._


	9. Ten Minutes

Damien sighed. He was already anxious, and now, the rain had ruined most of the food for the banquet. The kitchens had to start all over again, and they were short three stags. He and Alexander would have to go hunting in the short amount of time allotted, and in the rain, no less. He traipsed upstairs after sending a messenger to alert Alex of the change. He sighed again, and hesitantly knocked on the girls' doors. "Atalanta? Shouko? Alexander and I are having to go hunting for dinner." He paused, and chuckled at how homey this sounded. "Will you two be all right?"

Atalanta stuck her head out of Shouko's doorway. "Could I come?" There was a _hem_ming noise in the background. "Sorry, Shouk. Can _we _come?"

Damien looked surprised, then nodded. "Yes, of course you can. But you do know we will be… ah… killing things, right?"

Atalanta gave him a sarcastic glance. "No. We're going to go searching for bunnies. We're going hunting; of course we're going to kill something!" Damien smiled, and then shrugged.

"Get ready; you have ten minutes."


	10. The Sensation of the Bow

"Hunting? I haven't done that since I was a little girl with my father!" Shouko said to her friend, muffled through a thick towel to take the kohl and rouge off of her face. Atalanta nodded, already into trousers. She laid Shouko's pair out onto the bed – she was still the princess's lesser, even though she was her friend, and she wanted to help Shouko. Shouko was very, very nice, but she could be sort of… helpless? No, that's not the word – ah! there it is! – She could be very deluded when it came to the real world. Atalanta hadn't grown up with a very cushy life – better than a farmer, yes, but not much better than a merchant. Her family didn't have any servants other than a wonderful cook who was like a very fat, very lovable aunt to Atalanta, and an old gardener that her parents were very fond of – he created the best flowers, vegetables, and fruits in the country. His products were much sought after and made him a lot of pocket money along with his generous salary. She grew up dressing herself, doing chores, and taking care of her own little peach tree in the back garden. Her father worked in court for Shouko's parents, and her mother was a masterful painter and artist. Atalanta was neither. She wasn't the biggest fan of politics, and she couldn't draw a square to save her life. She enjoyed other things – gardening if she could, hunting occasionally, and reading and playing. She was much like a regular child, though admittedly better educated. She had especially excelled in storytelling and hunting. She became proficient with a sling, and not bad with a bow and arrow. She couldn't stomach skinning, though, she left that to others. Families were always happy to have an extra pair of quiet hands with them when they went hunting, so her friends would recruit her. Her family had money enough to buy their meat and barley, so she was a _free_ pair of hands, a hefty bonus in a hungering family's mind. Fathers taught her swordplay, and mothers taught her how to knit. Commonplace things like this were the best things to her. Harvest day was especially one of her favorite times. She would run though fields, collecting things people handed to her and giving the scythe a try whenever she could talk someone into it.

As she grew older, she went hunting less and less, and though she could best most of the boys in the village at swordplay, the development of her body (though small) made her frame lanky and awkward. She lost her tight movements and gave up fighting. (She could still kill a rat with a stone, though.) She still practiced with a bow, but soon, her friends were involved with other things, and interested in other things, so she didn't go hunting anymore.

She still remembered the sensation of a bow in her hand, her calloused fingers drawing the string taut in preparation for a release. She remembered the sound of clanging metal upon metal, shrieking knives across shields. She was very, very ready for this hunt.


	11. I'll Just Walk Him

Alexander shivered. He was wearing an oiled cloak, but he was still chilled and wet. He jumped from foot to foot before Atalanta and Shouko emerged. "My word, I think it's going to snow!" Shouko cried. The first flake landed on her outstretched palm. "My word, it's snowing!" she said, laughing and revising her statement. The sky was turning white as they watched.

Damien rounded the corner of the courtyard leading to the stables with four horses in his hands – one mare and three stallions. "Sorry, but they only had one mare available. Will you be able to handle it, Shouko?" Shouko shook her head. "Oh, dear. Atalanta?"

"Yes, I do suppose I could give it a shot. If worst comes to worse, then I'll just walk him." She smiled around, then mounted her horse. Everyone followed her lead, and then she motioned at the boys. "Lead the way."


	12. Ugh!

"UGH!" Jiani cried. "How is this happening? I sent _rain,_ then _snow,_ and they're _still having fun? They're going hunting in this weather?"_ She was fuming. She froze when she sensed a presence in the room along with her. She was in one of the turrets, and the window on the opposite side of the room was open. The doors were locked. She slowly turned around. "It's about _time_ you got here. I've been waiting ages, and they won't stop getting closer to each other. It's Alexander's birthday tonight, and my father was going to propose that concession to him. I don't want anything to screw that up."

"Yes, your Majesty," came the rough reply.

"Take someone. Anyone. Create a disturbance – no, take this one. And just this one."

"Yes, your Majesty."


	13. Having Any Luck?

Shouko sat with her body close to her mare for warmth, shivering and useless with a bow. Shouko was all right at archery, but only in warm weather. In bad weather, her hands shook and threw off her arrow. She was better with a crossbow, and that's what she held now. Silently she drew back the bolt and released. A cry arose from the buck that had been foraging. "After it!" she cried to Damien. The two set off at a breakneck pace following it, hoping that it would get tired sooner rather than later, and chased it with bolt after arrow after bolt. Damien hit the stag in the heart, and it quietly and quickly died. He quickly dismounted and knelt over the poor creature, blessing it and then straightening to blow his hunting horn. Almost immediately, two soldiers appeared from out of the trees on horseback to retrieve the steaming body. "One," Shouko mused. "I wonder if Alex and Atalanta are having any luck?"


	14. Not Fastened Properly

They were, in fact, having much luck. Alex had already bagged three large bucks and Atalanta was getting back into the swing and pace of hunting, hitting another stag. When they heard the horn, they knew that they had at least five, and that was all they needed to feed the court. Atalanta smiled at Alex, who returned it. They put their drawn arrows back into their respective quivers, and Atalanta took the opportunity to adjust her saddle. Alex gave her a look. "It wasn't fastened properly. I was falling off." He nodded, understanding.


	15. A Diplomat

Jiani cursed. Her plan to get Atalanta to fall off of her horse hadn't worked. "Dammit! If I didn't know better, I'd say she has a charm on her!" She groaned and fell back, away from the window where she was watching the group ride in triumphantly from their miniature hunt.

She made her way downstairs and sighed, composing herself before she faced anyone. She strode purposefully into the room, doing her best to own it the way she coveted. Her neck was tall, her back arched, and her eyes wide open. _(She didn't yet realize this made her look like a goose!)_ She drew stares, but not for the way she imagined. She looked like a fool, but she believed she looked regal. Her governesses had long given up trying to tell her otherwise.

Jiani was a princess from across the sea, far to the north, from the Netherlands. She was imposing and demanding, and she was a general nuisance to have around, as she virtually knew nothing other than flawed arts and that she wanted to be the ruler of a large kingdom, or a small empire, preferably. She didn't enjoy human companionship, as she felt an acute paranoia that everyone was trying to steal from her everything that she knew and wanted, as she loved nothing and no one but power, which she didn't have. She had had no power over her life or situations, and had to bend to her father's will under every condition. She could dictate nothing in her life – or so they thought.

She had quickly grown tired of a life that required her to do nothing and say nothing; though not of the privileged lifestyle she had lived in for her entire life. With the help of a blackmailed cook, she became proficient in the magical arts – specifically, dark magic. She couldn't care less about benefiting the world, or helping her subjects, as the old crone had suggested; rather, she benefited herself and used her newfound power to get her way almost all of the time. Very few knew they were being manipulated and those who did were also magical. Instead, they felt a vague wish to do the bidding of their princess, no matter the consequences. She didn't dare control her father this way – it would leave most of the decisions up to her, and she didn't want responsibility, only power! – so she left him to his own devices until it came to specific matters regarding her. Most young women were married at the age of fourteen or older, and princesses were no exception. She had evaded this matrimonial issue through nothing other than witchcraft. She manipulated the situation to where an old widower, already on his deathbed, would propose to her, and when he subsequently died, she would go into a period of mourning for a year or two, and, after reviewing the prospects, choosing a suitor who appealed to her. All was going according to plan before Prince Alexander caught her eye.

When she was still in her time of "sadness" for her late betrothed, she had come across Alexander at a political convention. Her father liked to show her off, and she liked to be shown off, so she didn't quibble about this point. She was sitting astute and fragile on her chair when Alexander and Damien had entered the room, flushed and panting. "So sorry – so sorry!" they had repeated over and over. This display of regret had immediately caught her attention – she had always been trained to act as if she were in the right – and even if this hadn't, the beauty and almost mournful look of him certainly would have. She was drawn to him and approached him immediately after the (not very productive) session was disbanded. She introduced herself and her father (whom she had dragged along with her), formulating a plan in which would finagle herself a spot in Alexander's court for a few years, where he was bound to fall in love with her. And if that didn't work, then she would use some more magic. Look where it had gotten her: nothing but happiness (or what she supposed was happiness; she didn't have anything to compare it to); it could further her and get her into a better position for her empire!

Soon, a position rose for a diplomat in Alex's country, and Jiani quickly convinced her father that it would be beneficial to her education and would further her learning. Her father couldn't find a reason to say no, so she was sent off to Lockamus. She had quickly grown accustomed to the traditions and mannerisms of the court in a foreign country, and though they spoke different tongues, they were very similar and the sentence form was virtually identical. Her accent was heavy and this would always mark her as foreign, but otherwise, she was Location in all ways. She liked the styles there more and the people were much more eager to please than in her home country of do-it-yourself-ness. But she was still spoiled here, and though she didn't bend quite as many people to her will here, she did do it, nonetheless.

Because of all this, she was sour to anyone who contradicted her, or hindered her interests and advances toward them. When she had discovered Alexander and Damien's illogical fascination with these commonplace girls, she decided to stop it. She had originally masqueraded in many forms, including the Hidden Princess, and even got the Duke to help her. But he didn't work, nor did the other forms of deterrents. One time, one of her handmaidens even sent an apology for her mistress' fallacies! The girl was instantly punished, and had only recently emerged from the swine yards.

She was utterly convinced that this was her last chance to stop this love interest from taking over her rightful places as queen of Lockamus – these girls, this _Atalanta_, were trying to stop her empire before it had even taken form! So she had enlisted outside help. The help had its directions, to be followed out tonight. Before long, that swatch of unseemly russet red hair would be forever gone from her life.

And she would be there to comfort Alexander in his despair.


	16. Sorry, Ma'am

Much later, a heavenly smell wafted out of the kitchens. Atalanta floated in, following her nose, almost dancing. "Is that the deer?" she queried. The cook nodded and smiled at her.

"Would you like a taste?"

"Oh, yes, please!"

"You deserve it, miss. What with you helping Sir Damien and Prince Alexander get this mutton – without you we wouldn't have a feast for his birthday anniversary." She smiled fondly at Atalanta, remembering her own daughter. Atalanta returned the smile after swallowing her last tidbit of mutton. "Was it that good?"

Atalanta nodded readily. "Really good. You did a great job, since you didn't have as much time as was best for cooking this meat, but you managed to make it taste better than it usually does – or at least, better than it does at home." Atalanta was always courteous to servants, but this cook reminded her strongly of her own, who had been her nanny and best friend for years.

The cook smiled, and then turned back to her potatoes. "Have fun tonight, eh, miss?"

Atalanta beamed at her. "Yes, ma'am!" She stood, put her stool back to where it originally was, and left the room. She passed Jiani on her way to the grand hall. She swept a low curtsey, opened her mouth wide, and said, "Your Majesty. How are your preparations for the night going?" She truly didn't care, but she was rather obliged to ask, as the princess looked rather like a peacock that required admiration. "And… your neck looks… strained." Like a goose, she thought. "Are you all right?"

Jiani scoffed. "Of course I'm all right! I'm better than all right! And my neck doesn't look strained, it looks regal!"

"Of course, your Majesty."

"My plans are going astoundingly well, if you must ask. My dress is ready, and I am going to be dressed and trussed." She was preening, Atalanta thought. "All of my other plans are in motion, and there will be a surprise tonight that no one will forget. My present to Alexander will be astounding." Among other things, she malevolently imagined. "You are dismissed," she added as Atalanta rose to leave. Atalanta cast her a skeptical look, as if she were saying, really, over her shoulder as she left.

She practically skipped through the hallways, feeling quite free in her hunting clothes, but then remembered that it wasn't truly proper for her to be in pants. She sighed, and took the closest stairway up to the third floor. She exited onto the hallway of her room, and was soon in her small closet, choosing what to wear. She sighed – her clothes weren't very grand, exactly, and she had no time to get a better gown. She rubbed her neck, and an idea struck her. "Needlepoint!" she exclaimed. She wasn't the best at it, but she enjoyed embellishments more than anything that had to do with needles. She rifled through the mess on her boudoir and pulled out her needles and thread. Within moments, she had chosen a dark blue gown with three-quarter sleeves and an open, square neck. She choose not to wear the collar that was attached to it – she unceremoniously cut it off and started sewing the lace to the sleeves, to create frills on her arms, and perhaps to draw attention away from her neckline. She added some gold embroidery spiraling up from the cuffs like there was gold rain falling and turning in midair on her sleeves. She sewed a golden sash that she made from some excess fabric from a too-long gold gown, and created a falling, turning pattern on her skirt from shining thread and some embellishments made of a few coins, pounded flat with a hammer she had found on her first hour here in the corner, sewn in for the big pieces (just four or five), and beads taken from a gaudy and ugly necklace her mother had packed into her case, and little flower embellishments sewn in, a feat of the ages for her semi-clumsy and inartistic fingers. She surveyed her handiwork after tending to her pricked and tired fingers, and was thoroughly impressed. "How did I pull this off?" she muttered to herself. "Ah, well. Not gonna do this again," she added. She shrugged and wiggled out of her clothes. She took a soothing bath, washing her hair with a sweet, rosemary-scented soap, and dried off. After she had gotten into her slip, a handmaiden came in to help her with her clothes. She smiled at the girl, and then choked as her corset was pulled tight. "My… God!" she whispered in between gasps.

"Sorry, ma'am," the girl said in a wide brogue accent. She smiled up at Atalanta with her front teeth missing. The girl was no older than ten. Atalanta managed a smile, and replied with, "It's all right."

She suffered through the dressing process. Soon, a troupe of hairdressers and stylists walked in. "Ah! Darrllling, zis 'air! We moost displee eet to eets peek!" Atalanta nodded, grimacing under all the pulling. "No moving!" snapped one of the people working on her bangs. She swallowed, nervous – she was never very comfortable with being pretty, or being in dresses, or being looked at. And at that point, all three were happening, and she could not get away.

She couldn't get away.


	17. A Slow Waltz

The sky had darkened, and guests were streaming through the gates of the castle courtyard. Flamboyant dresses and flaming colors broke the night, and music wheedled out of the open doors and windows into the gardens. Shouko was arm-in-arm with Damien, leaning her head against his strong shoulders. The night was young and crisp, and she felt as though she were dreaming. Nothing bad had happened, and the banquet was set to begin in half an hour. "Isn't this just amazing, Damien?" she queried. He nodded back, always a man of few words, but smiling nonetheless.

The orchestra started playing a slow waltz, and Damien stepped back in a semi-bow, holding out his hand for her to take. "May I have this dance, milady?" he asked his eyes searching and genuine. Shouko took his hand and let him lead her in the dance, enthralled.


	18. A Time of Celebration

Atalanta made her way down the stairs directly into the ballroom, greeting dignitaries on her way to the thrones, and finally swept a low curtsey to the dowager queen, who smiled back at her. Shouko and the queen looked remarkably alike, but it was of no consequence tonight. "Atalanta, I presume? I am very glad for the chance to meet you," the queen said in a lulling, soothing voice. Atalanta nodded. "Have fun tonight. It's a time of celebration, after all."


	19. My Target

Jiani watched from the other end of the hall, eyes burning, as Atalanta and the queen became familiar. "This is my chance! That girl shouldn't be talking to her! She's only a duchess!" She scoffed. "And a lowly one, at that." She rolled her eyes at their backs, and turned around to see none other than a young man, no older than fifteen, perched precariously behind her on the windowsill. "You!" she gasped. "Why are you here?"

The boy chuckled, rolling his eyes at her surprise. "Making sure of my target. Duh."

She sneered at him. "She's there! Now go!" She shoved him out of the window, turning away before she could see the annoyance on his face. It was oddly silent, though no one but the two of them knew why.


	20. A Short Complaint

_My throat hurts. Can I stop now? What? I can't? Why not? Grandson, you should know that I'll be here in the morning. No? Keep going? Fine. But you owe me one very hot lemon tea._


	21. Your Own Ball

Alexander stood up from his place at the banquet table after everyone had finished with their meals. A hush quickly fell over the crowd as they anticipated what he was to say next. "Let the ball begin!" he declared, and the room emptied but for two peoples other than him. One was Atalanta, and the other was Jiani. Jiani had been sitting only three seats away from him, so she reached him first. She draped herself over his shoulders, cloyingly sweet, only to be abruptly dismissed as he continued walking towards Atalanta.

"Happy birthday, my liege," Atalanta murmured. "Twenty-two today. Are you ready? Your mother says that she will be passing on the throne to you entirely today."

Alex shrugged, a faint smirk crossing his lips. "I'm ready, I suppose. But I'll need the trusted advice of my best friends to make sure that I'm making the right decisions. Friends like you, Shouko, and Anna."

Atalanta grimaced a bit, smiling through the grit. She was just a friend. As she had suspected, this was all she could ever be.

"Come, Prince. You mustn't be late for your own ball."


	22. Noticing

Jiani huffed, watching this sickening display of affection towards Atalanta, but grinned viciously when Alex referred to her as a friend. She turned away, satisfied, and ready to wait until the next event of the night.

/

Alex caught the grimace, and wondered what it was for. He started to ask her if she was all right, but she cut him off, saying something about being late.

He shrugged and took her arm, leading her into the ballroom. The band was playing a lively jig, folk music from the lands to the south. The music of his own island country was laid back and easygoing, music made to soothe spooked sheep in the mountains when a threat was detected. Whenever a wolf, or even dragon, was spotted, this music would begin to play by the mouths of shepherds, and when someone heard, they would run racing toward the source. However, it kept the sheep from scattering into the mouths of the adversary. It was a soothing sound, but it was also a source of alarm.

Oddly enough, the next tune the band played was just what he had been thinking about. It was the most famous of all of them, and Alexander stiffened. He had heard this song before, many times, and none of them had been good. Then he relaxed. This was a celebration! These were musicians, probably just playing a folk song to stay true to their roots! He had no reason to worry.


	23. Redheads

A handmaiden was opening a window in the stuffy ballroom when she saw it. She shrieked, her terrified voice tearing the silenced void. Another sound responded – not a shriek, but a cross between a roar and a screech. It shook the timbers of the castle, and every guest stopped what they were doing to see what had made it. "A dragon! My God, it's a dragon!" the girl cried. Every male guest and some of the more daring females raced out into the courtyard to see. Most of the men raised their swords in a defensive gesture as they saw it, but they would do no harm to the dragon unless it landed, which was highly unlikely. Since it was a night of celebration, there were only a few sentries on the walls, and none had arrows. The dragon drew closer, and they could do nothing to stop it. They saw its opalescent scales glittering in the moonlight, and Atalanta shuddered at the glance she got at its razor talons and piercing fangs. Anyone could easily be sliced to ribbons it those monstrous blades of death.

The creature perched upon the wall of the castle, balancing itself on the ramparts and battlements. The soldiers had long since scattered, sensing that they had no chance against it. A roiling cry emancipated itself from its throat, and a shudder and silence passed over the crowd. Again it made the noise – almost as if it was clearing its throat. And this proved true when the beast started talking. "Where is the flamer?" it uttered. Questioning looks were exchanged. "Flamer? What flamer?" they asked each other. "Where is she?" it asked again. "I am not very patient… so help me, I will find the flame-headed one if I have to kill every one of you." The crowd started back, with most of the weaker hearts fleeing back into the castle. Only a few people didn't move from their original spots, staring back up at the monster with eyes filled with apprehension and defiance.

Alexander stepped forward. "I see that you can speak… would you mind elaborating on your purpose here?" He was tentative in his question, knowing that it might well be answered with flames. His hand was resting on his sword hilt (he wore his sword at all times), but as more of a reassurance than as a threat. His brow was furrowed. "Who is this… flamer that you speak of?'

If dragons could look impatient, this one did. "The one whose head is ablaze!" He seemed at a loss for words. "There was a… prophecy… telling that the flamer would be the one to bring us to… salvation."

Alexander looked dubious. For a prophecy, this dragon didn't know much about it, and seemed quite hesitant to tell it. Dragons, those who could speak, were very eloquent, for the most part, excepting the children and senile. He couldn't think up a reason that this one would be any different. "I see. But, as is obvious, no one's head is ablaze."

"The one who looks like it!" the dragon roared, obviously annoyed now. "They look like their head is ablaze!"

"A… redhead, you mean? Something like fiery hair?" The dragon nodded. Alexander pursed his lips, worried. This could lead to trouble.

"A woman," the dragon added. "A girl."

Alexander paled. There were only a few redheads here, and three were elderly women, and the two more were young princes from Ireland. That left only one. His eyes darted to Atalanta, then back to the dragon. The dragon saw it, though, and something like a caricature of joy lit his face. "This one… yes. This is the one."

"No!" Shouko screamed. "I won't let you!"

Atalanta stepped out from behind her friend, who had flung herself protectively in front of the redhead. "It's all right. Besides… I don't think I have a choice right now." She sent one last sorrowful glance to her friends. "What now, dragon?"

"We leave."

He scooped her up by placing a taloned paw under her, and quickly deposited her onto his back. "Hold on." He took off quickly, giving her friends nary a chance to change her mind. The cacophonous sound of massive wings hitting and striking the air sent everyone into a frenzy, like spiders sent reeling by a strong gust of wind. Alexander, Damien and Shouko recovered first, starting up and staring after their friend. Tears rolled freely down Shouko's face.

"We'll never see her again, will we?"


	24. Traveling

Atalanta clung desperately to his hard, wide scales. She was desperately trying to prevent herself from falling off of the dragon's back, and ended up wedging her fingers into the crannies between two scales. The dragon groaned. "Sorry, but there's nowhere else to hold on," she muttered murderously. The dragon was quiet, but quickened his pace, his wings hitting the air at speeds faster than she would have credited the beast originally. They were soon over the mountains, plowing through low-hanging clouds, and as Atalanta did some mental figuring, she realized that he had traveled over sixty miles in an hour, a trip that would have taken a horse multiple days, if not weeks, to complete. Her face was one of pure shock, and then it was quickly smothered by suspicion. Where was this monster taking her?

Her unspoken queries were soon answered as the dragon landed on a ledge next to a large cave. The dragon shook her off, stretched like a cat, and lay down upon the rock face. His body and tail covered all possible means of escape, and she sat down, silently panicking and close to tears. "I'll never get back. A damned dragon'll eat me before I see Shouko get coronated! Why does this always happen to me?" she cried, her voice rising to a loud wail, the wind catching her hair and blowing it all to the sky. She crawled into the cave, finding a small corner to rest in, and cried herself to sleep.


	25. Bath Time

Light streamed into the dank cave, aggressively pushing it's way through her eyelids. She groaned and rolled over, only to find her stomach resting on something cold and pointy. She gasped and sat up, taking in her gleaming surroundings. The cave walls alone were shining, gemstones peeking out at the corners. The floors were covered in gold and silver, plunder that the dragon had gathered over the years. There were dresses strewn across the piles, along with crowns, swords, and armor. Atalanta shuddered, imagining the poor people the items had belonged to. A warm draft of air snaked over her neck, smelling strongly of smoke and mutton. She slowly turned around to stare at the entrance of the cave. The dragon's head filled the small space. It wasn't as large as it had seemed in the gloom the night before, but it was still large, probably a juvenile in its last stages of development.

Atalanta quickly backed up, pressing herself into the rock wall, trying to escape into the nooks and crannies of the rock face. She made an uncomfortable squeaking noise and her eyes quickly became the size of doubloons. The dragon made a scoffing noise, laughing at her, and shook its head. "Your dress is ruined. Use the clothes upon the treasure." Atalanta darted a glance at the piles, clenching her teeth, and slowly nodded. The dragon looked satisfied, withdrawing its head and turning around on the ledge.

Atalanta ran for the security of the great piles, grabbing a pair of breeches and a loose tunic. "All the better to flee with," she muttered under her breath. She clambered over the pile and slid down the side into a stack of bones. She shrieked, and the dragon just chuckled. "Cows?" she yelled, catching her breath. "Why don't you get rid of these goddamn bones!"

"Can't, my dear, for that would require _effort. _I'm not capable of _effort,_ unless forced."

Atalanta groaned in retribution, wading through the bones. At least they were clean, she mused. She stopped once on her feet steadily once again, and pulled off of her dress. She looked at the rips and tears in her dress, the burn marks, dirt, and moss. It was disgusting, and beyond saving. "So much for a fairy godmother," she muttered venomously, pulling on the tunic and breeches. She started to wander about the cave, noting hiding places and dry spots to sleep. When she came upon a spring, she gasped. She pulled a handkerchief out of one of the piles and dropped it into the water. It floated along, and then slipped under a wall. "A current! A place it lets out!" she whispered to herself. She looked around, and then slipped into the water. It was lukewarm, though she knew she would be freezing once she got out. She had learned how to swim as a child, so she paddled silently through the water, eventually submerging her head, holding her breath and dunking herself. She pushed through the water, searching out where the water escaped. She quickly found it, grinned, and came up for one last breath of air. The current was weak enough to where she could easily swim against it, so she started underwater. She followed the current to its strongest point, reaching a small cavern. She looked about, frowned, and then dunked again. It hadn't looked like there was anywhere to go. She searched the cave both above and below the waterline, finding no exits and only serving to drench herself even further. A drowned water rat couldn't be any wetter. She came up finally, coughing, and disappointed. The point of exit was the size of her wrist, and went through the floor. She would drown even if she were able to get through the hole.

She swam back out and back into the cave, emerging from the pool to find the dragon staring into the cave. "Wanted to take a bath?" he asked, raising a scaly ridge above his eye that could only be called an eyebrow. She nodded, and the dragon rolled its massive orbs of eyes. It laid its head upon its paws and closed its eyes, taking a catnap where she was easily within sight, no matter where she went.


	26. Happy Belated Birthday

It had been four days since Atalanta had been abducted, and Shouko was frantic. "What if she's already dead? What if it ate her alive? What if she fell off its back and was dashed upon the ground?" Damien laid a soothing hand against her shoulder, making the same clucking noises his mother would when he would start spinning out of control, like a bird struck by a rock. She took in a large breath and then held it. "What if…?" she said, letting the question trail off, leaving the unthinkable unsaid. Damien nodded. "We've sent out three search parties. None have seen her yet – but we _will_ find her. I promise you, we will."

"Happy belated birthday, Damien," Shouko murmured, and he wrapped her in a hug, then released.

Shouko nodded, still unsure, and shakily stood from her perch on a large armchair that used to belong to Alexander's father and now rested in the library. She stared out of the window that Alexander had so hopefully looked out of only days before with a forlorn and resigned look upon her countenance.


	27. A Different Story

Jiani was very happy. With that dragon having taken the girl, it was much easier to get the attention of Alexander; though keeping it was an entirely different story. She knew who had sent the monstrous creature, but she wasn't going to be telling anytime soon. It had done her a large favor, though that might not have been its intentions.


	28. Letters

Alex finished penning the sad letter to Anna, Atalanta's friend, of the abduction. It told of their search and asked her to tell Atalanta's parents, and then wished her a sad but fond farewell. He signed the correspondence with a flourish after reading over it once more, and sent it to the palace messengers, who would then take the note to her anon*. He sighed and stood from the desk that was in Atalanta's room. He had been in the room to absorb of much of her presence as he could. He breathed in one last time, and left the room. "Goodbye, Atalanta," he murmured, pausing at the door. "I hope we'll meet again."

*_Anon meaning quickly when used in this instance. Also, it's used as a pun._


	29. Kelerak

Atalanta shivered in the merciless cold of the mountains that night, wishing that she had an internal

*_Anon meaning quickly when used in this instance. Also, it's used as a pun._

combustion machine as the dragon did, and huffed on her hands, imitating the dragon when it was breathing fire. It had flatly refused to do so for her, and she was feeling a bit of apathy towards it.

The dragon opened one eye, and growled, "Trying to make a fire from your breath? Not going to work." This tipped the scales.

"You know, you _could_ give me a fire so I wouldn't freeze! Or is that your purpose? To kill me without expending any effort and still remaining free of all blame? Of course it is, why do I even have to ask! Grow up and grow a spine, you swine!"

"That rhymed," it remarked. Atalanta shrieked, and fled to the outside of the cave, perching on the edge of the ledge precariously, holding onto a flimsy tree. "Don't fall," it called out, for the first time betraying some emotion. It sounded almost concerned for her. She ignored it, and contemplated escaping this way for the first time. The dragon couldn't follow her this way, there were two walls quite close together and it wouldn't be able to fit its wingspan, even folded, through the narrow gap. She grinned quite evilly and started to clamber down the side of the mountain, thanking God again and again for these new clothes. "Wait!" the beast cried. She rolled her eyes and continued climbing – but not before slipping on a treacherous stretch of gravelly rocks.

She shrieked, clinging to a root for dear life, her feet scrabbling for purchase on the smooth rock face. Something appeared over the side of the cliff – not the dragon's face, but another, almost human, face. "Stop! Just hold on!" he told her.

"OF COURSE," she screamed, managing to inject sarcasm within her words at even this most dire time. "No, I'm trying to fall!"

The person launched itself over the edge, and Atalanta screamed, closing her eyes and fearing for a gory death, but was surprised when she felt his arms around her, not dragging her down, but lifting her up. "What-?" she started, but stopped at the sight of leathery wings remarkably like the dragons whaling against the air, pushing the two of them up. The boy was sturdily built, with strawberry blond hair and golden eyes. "Who are you?" she managed.

The boy set her down on firm ground. No, he was a man, a young adult… but definitely not human. "What are you?"

"Nothing. No one. Anything. Anyone," he said in way of answer. Atalanta made a face. "You knon me best as 'that damned dragon.'"

Atalanta swallowed. "Y-you are the dragon?"

"Changeling, actually. Raised by fairies. Spent some time with dragons, though; they were quite fascinating."

Atalanta's jaw dropped. "B-but…" she started, then trailed off. "You…. Why did you abduct me?" she said, finally finding the voice she had been searching for since the first night. She started back, a sudden realization coming over her. "There is no prophecy, is there? Or if there were, you wouldn't know, since you're not a dragon."

The boy… changeling… looked over at her with a sideways glance weighed down with guilt. "Oh my God, there isn't! Why, then?"

He set his jaw and shook his head at her. "None of your business."

Atalanta scoffed. "Um, yes. My business. You abducted _me,_ remember?"

He opened his mouth to retaliate, then closed it, knowing when he was beaten. "Someone made me."

"Who?" Atalanta said, regaining her feet and striding over to him, closing the gap between them and putting her hands on his shoulders beseechingly. "Who?"

He blushed, suddenly and acutely self-conscious of his shirtlessness, and looked down. "A princess from the north. Blonde. Name of Jiani."

Atalanta recoiled from him as though he had passed an electric charge through her body.

"Ah. So you know her," the boy said. She grimaced, and he nodded. "Yeah, she's a bitch."

"Then why are you doing what she says?" Atalanta nearly snarled, backing up to where she was once again standing by the cave mouth. "Is she controlling you?"

"Very nearly, yes," the boy replied. "She's a witch. A powerful one, at that. I'd say she learned from a few of the masters," he rambled on, almost as if he were speaking to himself.

Atalanta stopped, frozen, with the sudden fear that someone… something was watching her. "What did she make you do? And what do you mean by very nearly?" she whispered, gripping the rock face behind her and paling to the color of marble.

"I mean, she's holding something so big, so powerful over my head that I cannot help but to do what she demands, for my own sake as well as a few others'. She's made me a sort of… pet. I don't have much freedom now, but she only told me to take you away and do with you what I will. I haven't decided yet what I'm going to do with you. I'm not going to eat you, don't worry," he said, interjecting into her thoughts. "Changelings don't eat people. Dragons only rarely eat people. You taste acidic, like foul herbal medicine. They only eat people when the time is of the utmost necessity."

Atalanta looked a bit disconcerted. "If they don't eat people, then why are they always abducting princesses?"

"Not always. Only every once and a while, and those are just the greedy dragons. Most dragons only want the gold from the treasury. They just threaten the land enough but never really come down enough to scare the people any more than necessary. If they're lucky, they get some gold for protection against other dragons and to keep them away from people and crops and livestock."

"R-really…"

"Mm-hmm."

"So, what are you going to do to me? Really?"

"I'll let you ponder that. At the moment, I'm hungry." The changeling transformed back into his reptilian state, and coiled his muscles to take off into flight.

"Wait!" Atalanta cried. "Um… you!"

"The name's Kelerak." And with that, he took off into the bright winter sky.


	30. Bad News

Parisa was lying cozily on one of the Duke's chaises in his mansion, where she had shared a home with him for the past year, when she heard the fanfare of a trumpet. She bolted upright and ran out of the door, holding her arms wide open to the friends she expected to be on her doorstep. She halted abruptly when she saw the crier, who seemed to be in mourning. "Hello? And who are you?" she asked, her delicately veined wings fluttering nervously behind her.

"I am a messenger from Prince Alexander of the kingdom of Lockamus, Madam Fairy. He sent me with sad tidings." The messenger handed over the carefully sealed letter, bowed over Parisa's hand, and quickly walked away to his horse, which he hoisted himself onto and galloped away. He didn't like being the bearer of bad news, or the one who had to console the person when they broke down.

Parisa immediately felt nervous when she saw how eager the messenger was to flee the scene. She opened the letter with shaking hands, and then cried out, stepping backwards and tripping over the entryway. The Duke came running, praying that his friend hadn't hurt herself once again, and knelt down next to her at the speed of light. "Are you all right?" he asked, breathless, one half of his face shaved. He then saw the letter in her hands, took it from her, and read it. He paled. "No… no, no. This cannot be happening…" he murmured. "Parisa, I…" he trailed off, unsure of what to say. She turned into his chest and wrapped her arms around him sadly, sobbing quietly into his side.


	31. Hope

Anna threw down the letter as if it carried a curse. She stomped on it, hesitated, and then bent to pick it up. She straightened the edges absentmindedly, her mind obviously elsewhere. "Atalanta… what a mess you've gotten yourself into this time."

She quickly packed enough clothes to last a week on horseback. She was going to ride to Alexander's side immediately to help head up the search effort. This was her best friend that was missing; she wasn't just going to let her slip away that easily.

She mounted her horse and kicked it, clicking softly to it under her breath to keep it calm. They sped out of the communal home that she, Shouko, and Atalanta had shared for a year, and onto the dirt road leading down the plateau and onto Alexander's territory. The land was dangerous and crisscrossed with rivers and gorges, but she needed to get to her friends. If there was any hope of ever seeing Atalanta again, she had to get to Alexander's home.


	32. Dinner

Atalanta was marking small drawings into the dirt and stones on the cliff when suddenly, a deer thumped down in front of her. She cried out and jumped backwards, looking up at the sky and seeing the imposing form of the dragon making its landing. She ran to shelter, avoiding being crushed under its large paws. Kelerak touched down in front of the cave mouth and transformed after breathing flame over the poor dead beast. "Dinner," he murmured, sitting to tear into the animal. Atalanta shuddered, and then slowly went to join him.


	33. Jaded

Shouko was worried. She hadn't heard of any news or progress in the search for Atalanta, and Anna had shown up over a week ago. Damien wasn't letting her or Anna join in looking for her, and neither Alexander nor the head of the searches would tell either of them anything. They were isolated.

"Shouko," Anna started tentatively, putting down the embroidery she had been practicing, "where do you think the dragon took her?"

"Easy. He took her to the mountain range in the north. I don't think that they'll be finding her anytime soon, though… not before the winter, and that will lock them in for an indefinite amount of time. They won't be able to look for them during the winter, as the passes and roads will be blocked by snow and ice. There's no chance that they'll find them within the year."

Anna looked purely horrified at the notion. "Shouko!" she cried. "Why are you being so pessimistic?" She started to slowly and silently cry. "Why would you say that?" she whispered.

_Shouko had become jaded over the course of the month. When no one would tell her anything about her friend, she started to assume the worst – that her best friend had died, been found, and that no one was telling her. Her heart had been broken and she wasn't willing to break it again. She had even started to harden against Damien. She was becoming less of the sweet, caring princess she had been and was now a cruel façade of the Shouko everyone, including Damien, knew and loved. No one knew what to do with her – no one but Jiani._


	34. Once the Snow Lifts

Shouko sat in her seat on the council, silent and cold. Jiani gazed across at her, smirking to herself. Soon, the meeting ended, the movement finally passed. "Shouko," Alexander murmured, putting a hand on her rigid shoulder. "What's the matter?"

"Everything," Shouko spat back. "Nothing."

"That's not a straight answer, nor is it honest, and you know that better than anyone, Shouk."

"Don't call me that name! My name is Princess Shouko, and that's how I demand that you address me, Prince Alexander!"

Damien started as he was walking through the doorway. "Shouko… what's happened to you?"

"Princess Shouko!"

"Princess or not, you have no right to speak to anyone like this," Alexander said to her, brow furrowed and eyes threatening. "What is the matter?"

"You! And Damien! And this entire damned castle and court! No one will tell me a damn thing about my best friend! Why the secrecy, hmm, Alexander? Afraid I'll find out that someone's died? Afraid that I'll overreact if Atalanta were to have been eaten, or dropped, that very first night that the dragon took her away? Stay away from me unless you have actual news about anything relevant to my situation." She screamed these words with all of her force without her voice ever rising.

Damien quietly stepped up behind Shouko and wrapped her in a silent hug. "Shhshhshhh… it'll all be all right. We love you, Shouko, and we love all of you girls. Believe me when I tell you that we truly have not found anything at all about Atalanta or the dragon, and if we had, we would have told you. We have found multiple dragons, but we have checked their dens. No sign of Atalanta, eaten or otherwise. The dragons are all either dumb or much too old or a different color than the dragon that we saw that night."

"What would you do if I don't believe you?" countered Shouko, now crying. "What if I thought you were lying? Lying to protect me and my fr-friends…" she finished, finally breaking down and crumpling into his arms.

"Well, we would put you onto the search party… one of the executives, if you wish," Alexander said. Shouko nodded, not able to speak at that point, as sobs wracked her body tremulously, and blearily looked up at him. "Yes… you'll go with us once the snow lifts. All of our men are coming home now to get out of the mountains before winter sets in." Shouko slowly nodded again. "She'll be all right. Atalanta's stronger than most girls. She'll be fine."


	35. Old Bones

_Ah, me, my old bones hurt. It's tiring, telling this story. Is anyone even listening anymore? You? Pfaw. I doubt it. I don't think even the people who this is about would be concerned for very long; they would probably listen for five minutes then rush off to kill a dragon. _

_Wait. You know them? And… they're interested? _

_Say, straw-head, where are you from? You haven't clarified that to me. And don't give me that 'far away' business, this time; no, I want the whole story. _

_Finish my story? Ugh. Fine._


	36. Christmas Special

Atalanta had worked on making the treasure trove a bit more livable lately, and had sewn together dresses and tunics and pantaloons and all sorts of articles of clothing together to form a mattress. She had asked Kelerak to catch birds so she could take their feathers, but he had bluntly refused, saying that things with wings were related to him and gave him terrible indigestion. But despite this interesting piece of trivia knowledge, Atalanta had found a way to stuff her pillow. The mattress was filled with clothes, and it made for a lumpy mattress, but it was better than the rocky ground. She had then made a pillowcase by sewing the holes in a shirt up save one with which to put feathers into the pillow. She had found a crossbow early on, and had enough practice to shoot a bird at close range. She would shoot straight up, run for cover, and wait until something fell back to the ground. She never lost a bolt this way, and often hit the bird. She quickly accumulated enough feathers to fill two large pillows – one for her, and one for Kelerak, when he actually slept in his true form, or at least what Atalanta supposed was his true form. She had been saving them for a special day – Christmas Day. She doubted Kelerak knew of anything such as Christmas or Saint Nick, but she might as well try. The less animosity between the two of them, the better, she reasoned.


	37. A Dragon's Laugh

A screeching cry resounded amongst the mountains, screaming into the ears of every living thing within a radius of three miles. Atalanta bolted out of a doze, slipping off of her makeshift bed and onto the floor rather painfully. "What's the matter? What's the matter?" she cried, desperately looking around with terror in her eyes. She hadn't heard a cry that full of pain in years. A shuddering thump shook the rock underneath her feet. She sprinted outside, into the dark, starry night, and cried aloud at the horrific sight that greeted her.

Kelerak was in his dragon form, panting heavily and bleeding profusely from a large, gaping tear in his hide just below his wing. His figure shuddered, and he shrunk into a withered version of the Kelerak she knew. He was graying and blanching alternately, and looked as though he were about to be violently sick. His side was torn open, a slash around the size of his forearm, and it looked as though the wound had been made by a spear or an arrow of some sort. "What happened?" Atalanta cried as she rushed to his side, sinking to the ground beside him while tearing her shirtsleeves into strips of bandages that she applied to his side. "Who hurt you?"

He coughed, spitting out blood. This worried her, making her think that they might have nicked a lung, whoever they were. "Search… party," he hacked. Atalanta stopped, her mouth dropping open in astonishment. They were this close? They were still looking for her? "Northerners… hate dragons… even… more than you people… do."

Atalanta's face was significantly crestfallen. "Oh." She didn't have words to express her disappointment. "Who… who were they looking for?" she inquired, not really caring, while applying pressure to Kelerak's wound.

"Some… northern princess… They are convinced… dragons… have something… to do with her… disappearance." He coughed again, and moaned for emphasis.

"I know you hurt!" she said, somewhat sympathetically, somewhat annoyed. He could be such a drama king sometimes! "And… wait, northerners? What did they look like?"

"Everyone looks the same to me."

"Liar. What color was their hair?" Atalanta rolled her eyes for emphasis. "You knew who you were looking for when you were looking for me. And you're smart enough to come up with a makeshift, impromptu prophecy on the spot when asked for a reason for just one girl. If you can improvise that much, you can tell me what these people looked like."

"Straw-blonde… straight as an arrow."

"Hmmm. Wait, no, but… hum."

"What?"

"Sounds like Jiani. Do you think, maybe, that no one was totally… _aware_ of the fact that she was coming here?"

They both paused, thinking. "I have the sneaking suspicion that she cunningly persuaded her father to allow her to come here. And that the spouse of the person whom she replaced was not very happy when he or she realized his or her spouse was dead. This could be an interesting development," Atalanta concluded.

Kelerak nodded in agreement, and then punctuated the silence with another groan. "I don't want to be alive," he moaned piteously. "Kill me now, and go down the mountain to your friends! My life is over."

Atalanta rolled her eyes. "Grow up, you whining fairie child. I cannot abide people who do nothing but gripe." She poked him in the side for emphasis. He whimpered, and she stood finally. Striding into the cave, she snatched up a bucket and dipped it into the now-cold spring. Winter weather made things cold, but it would do just fine for her purposes.

"Oh, Kelerak!" she trilled, almost dancing out of the cave mouth. "_Get. Up._" The venom in her voice was affirmed by the dousing of cold water she poured over his face. "It's not as bad as you think." She exposed the wound once again and bathed that as well. "A shallow wound. Long, but shallow. You will be absolutely fine within the week. It is now washed and cleaned, and won't fester, thank goodness, because of this abominably cold weather."

Kelerak was shivering, his teeth chattering in the freezing air. "I'm sh-sh-shirtless and fr-fr-frozen. Wh-why would y-you p-p-p-p-pour icy spring water across my b-b-body?"

"To make you whine about something else, apparently," Atalanta sighed, realizing that he wasn't going to stop whining until she acknowledged that he might have been hurt. "Is da widdle baby aww wight?" she baby-spoke to him. "Ow does he want his tweasuwe?"

"Oh, can it."

"Aha! So you aren't freezing."

"No, of course not. Or, at least, not for much longer." He quickly grew to double, triple, and quadruple his original size. "Dragons don't get cold, not really," he rasped. When he saw Atalanta roll her eyes again, he commented on it. "You know, your eyes will get stuck up there. Also, doesn't that eye-rolling exercise hurt your face?" She threw her hands up and he laughed at her exasperated expression in a grating rumble that travelled down the side of the peak and to the search party. The searchers stopped, listened, and then quickly hastened on. They had never heard a dragon's laugh before.


	38. Sleepy Spells

Jiani sat, brooding, in her high tower room. The throes of sleep gripped her, but she had recently gotten word that a band of blonde soldiers were making their way south from the mountains. They spoke with the same dialect as Jiani, or so she had heard, and were asking of a princess. A _blonde_ princess. A princess that had escaped their watchful eye with the assistance of _witchcraft_. She was waiting for the first sight of them, and had been without sleep for three days now. No one else in the court knew of this interesting development, luckily for her, but they would soon enough. She wanted to last out the winter in this country _at_ _least_, and would _not_ be taken back to that doleful, lugubrious, gray and dead country she regretfully called home. Only a very strong blanket of ignorance would prevent them from discovering her true nature, and thankfully, that blanket was named Atalanta.

She hadn't expected her plan to work out so perfectly, with one part taking care of another. She had been aiming only to get a competing suitor to Alexander out of the way, but not only had that changeling done that, but it had also created a flurry of commotion. That unexpected side effect drew attention away from her, but though this was a minor annoyance, it also drew attention away from the fact that she was utterly unaffected by the sadness that permeated the surrounding area, not to mention the whispers that she might have had something to do with it. With scouts, or spies, or whatever they were calling themselves coming to take her home, this was exactly what she had hoped for or even more than she thought was possible by witchcraft. She couldn't have asked for better confusion. The night sky was just beginning to become tinged with pink, and Jiani yawned. She shook her head, attempting to get the sleep out of her eyes, but frowned. She was too tired to do this any longer. She cast one final spell, one that would confuse and turn around any blondes who tried to enter the ten-mile area around the castle, and went to lay down on her bed, falling upon it and sighing herself into sleep.


	39. Thoroughly Confused

Llyr paused, very thoroughly confused. Where had he been going? He had been going to sing somewhere… but where? Or had he been going to console someone? Someone had paid him very handsomely, but he couldn't fill out his duties if he had such horrid amnesia... right? He pulled on his white-blonde hair, desperately straining to remember, and closed his eyes. He opened them to realize that he had been instantaneously transported to a valley. "Wait, what?" he cried. "I still can't remember! I don't want to walk forty miles back to the castle! Ugh! This is crazy." He sat down and pulled his food out of his pack. "It's breakfast time," he remarked, annoyed. "I am going to take my time getting there this time. That king will just have to wait."


	40. Sampling the Wares

Alexander, sitting regally and stoically upon his throne, sighed. His singing friend had neglected to show up. Where in the world could Llyr be? He usually was so musically punctual. One of his kitchen boys stumbled into the hall, looking dazed and confused. "What's the matter, Tuhl? You're usually so present. You seem a bit off today." He stood and walked over to the boy.

"Me an' some of the other kitchen boys, sir. All of us from the same village. It was like some amnesiac wave hit us. It felt like we were being pulled away… We can't remember, though, what else happened. It's peculiar, if you know what I'm saying, Alex – I mean, Your Majesty. Sorry." Tuhl bowed his head, his fair hair covering his reddening face.

"Tuhl, it's all right. You took care of some of my best friends when there was that hidden, jealous, green-eyed princess coming out of the woodwork and striking like an asp. For that, I owe you, and the least I can do is to allow you to call me by my name."

Tuhl brightened, and reached into his pocket. "By the way, si- _Alex,_ I found this. I'm not sure what it is, but it looks like some sort of jewel, though it sparkles and glimmers like nothing I've ever seen before. It's beautiful, but I get a sense of foreboding whenever I hold it. Do you know what it is?"

Alex stared at the gemstone, brows furrowed and fingers knit. "No, but if you'll let me take it, I'll find a diviner to tell us what it is and where it came from. Thank you," he added as Tuhl handed the jewel to him. Tuhl smiled again and walked off, a little bit straighter this time. Alexander grinned and shook his head – he had a feeling that the kitchen boys had been sampling the finer wares out of the wine cellar lately, and this just helped to confirm his suspicions. It wasn't harmful, the boys weren't drinking expensive wine by the barrel, but it was the fact that they were too young to hold their wine that gave them away.


	41. Once Again

_Oh, Alexander. Dense, once again. You can't even see the sorcery before your own eyes when someone is doing everything but telling you the source._


	42. Narrthh

Llyr looked up to the sound of many feet and hooves coming toward him. "Hello, who's that?" he called out, placing his hand on his lyre and the other on the dagger hidden in his boot. "Hallo!"

A small unit of men marched over the crest in the hill, and three horses followed behind, two mounted stallions and one docile mare led by a tether. "Hah-loh," one of the seated soldiers said. "Whar arr vhe?"

Llyr's mouth dropped open. "Uhm, we're in Lockamus. You're not from here, I suppose?"

"No. Frahm Graciea. Narrthh." The soldier drew out his syllables crudely, making Llyr flinch. "Vhe just marshed thrugh the mauhnts."

"Well, then, by all means, please join me by the fire!" (He had started a small fire to cook some eggs he had found upon.) He patted the ground next to him, smiling, but holding his eggs close to his body. The men looked over their shoulders to their commanding officer, or at least, that is what Llyr supposed, and he nodded after a moment's consideration. The men dropped their gear and sighed down to the ground.

"Eet is sho goot to beh seetingh!" one of the soldiers exclaimed.

"So why are you here?" Llyr asked slowly, enunciating carefully. "Sightseeing?"

"No," the man getting off of the tallest horse said. "We are looking for my daughter, Jiani."

"Really? Did she run away from home to get hitched to a nobleman?"

"Well… yes, that's what we presume."

"Who? Don't leave me hanging, this sounds like a song in the making!"

"Your Prince Alexander."

Llyr's mouth almost fell off of his face. "Uh, uhm… you're sure about that?"

"Yes, or, well… not truly. But we have our suspicions. She had met him only a few weeks before, at a political convention, and she fell for him, I surmise. Soon, the ambassador to here fell sick, and we can only gather that she had something to do with that."

"Sir, I hate to interrupt, but I have to know – who are you? I think you must be of some status, as you speak our language fluently and with very little accent."

"I am the king of Graciea, King Phorlant. I have a question in response to yours, if you don't mind terribly."

"Of course not. Fire away."

"Why do you seem so disbelieving of the fact that my daughter wants to marry your prince?"

"Because, sir, he's in love with someone else already. And she is definitely no princess."

The king straightened up. "In that case, I fear something bad has already happened. We must double our pace."

Llyr had been taking a sip from his water skin, but spit out the water abruptly, spraying the fluid across the fire, making it pop, and the soldiers. He hastily wiped his mouth, and apologized, explaining himself. "I'm afraid you're right, your majesty. I had been transported here from the castle, where I was going to comfort Alexander, as he and I are acquaintances, for his love had been stolen away by a dragon. I had completely forgotten!'

"Jiani's doing. Do not worry, my friend, it is not your fault."

"What do you mean, Jiani's doing? How could a runaway princess do that?"

"She's a witch. That's why we don't know how she got away from us."

Llyr's jaw dropped onto the palm of his hand, which he had inserted between his knee and his face after he had spit. "No way! I mean, it makes sense, but there's no way! How would she have access to magic in your castle?"

"A cook who confessed to witchcraft – however, it was white magic and charms to cure ailments only, so she was forgiven. She taught Jiani that basics, but I'm rather sure she had other assistance in learning stronger magics, such as memory alteration, most likely from a wandering sorcerer she stole something from, as I cannot imagine someone giving her instruction on such things." He nodded, his face anguished and showing his pain. "I don't know what made her go bad," he murmured, crumpling into himself. Llyr hesitated, and then quietly and gently patted the nobleman's back.

"It's all right… it wasn't your fault."

"Yes it was! I shielded her too much, and she was obviously bored!"

"Well, she shouldn't have been. She was living a life of luxury that most peasants would kill for. She should have asked for something to do around the castle instead of turning to witchcraft to get her chuckles!"

King Phorlant nodded, composing himself. "Yes. I should not be easy on her, should I?" Barely pausing to check Llyr's affirming nod, he continued on. "Yes. You and I and the rest of my troops shall continue on to the capital together, and we shall take Jiani home."

Llyr saluted smartly, smiling a little bit to himself. "That we shall."


End file.
